It was planted with the best of intentions: to fight desertification, protect fragile soils and offer struggling communities a lifeline. Instead, this hardy tree has become a symbol of how environmental solutions can go dangerously wrong. In eastern Ethiopia, what was meant to heal the land has quietly reshaped lives, livelihoods and landscapes – and not for the better.
A promise rooted in good intentions
When the prosopis tree was first introduced to eastern Ethiopia in the 1970s, it arrived with a halo. Hardy, drought resistant and fast growing, it seemed tailor made for arid regions battling desertification. The idea was simple and hopeful: stabilise soils, provide shade, improve local microclimates and even supply wood for charcoal. For communities living on the edge of survival, it sounded like a lifeline.
Several decades on, that promise has curdled into something far more troubling.
A plant that turned against the people
‘Because of this plant, we became poor.’ The words of Khadija Humed, a pastoralist from the Afar region, are stark and difficult to dismiss. Around her village near Awash, the landscape has been transformed into dense thickets of thorny prosopis. What was once open grazing land is now nearly impassable.
Like many families in the area, Khadija once relied on livestock. She still owns a handful of cows and goats, but she remembers a time when households routinely kept five times that number. The reason for the decline is not drought alone. The pods of the prosopis can lodge in animals’ mouths and stomachs, making them sick and, in many cases, killing them. For communities built around pastoral livelihoods, the impact has been devastating.
‘Everything changed’
Elder Yusuf Mohammed, who has lived in the region for over seven decades, puts it plainly: everything changed. The tree’s dense foliage has altered more than the vegetation. It attracts wild animals that now roam closer to villages, bringing lions, hyenas and other predators into daily contact with herders and their weakened animals.
The long, vicious thorns injure livestock, slowing them down and making long journeys for pasture impossible. Over time, animals grow weaker, herds shrink and families slide deeper into poverty. What was meant to protect against climate stress has compounded it.
Researchers share this sense of disbelief. Hailu Shiferaw, from Ethiopia’s water and land resources research centre, has described the spread of prosopis as an ecological backfire no one anticipated. The tree’s deep roots can draw up to seven litres of water a day, draining already fragile soils and choking out crops. Instead of restoring balance, it has tipped it.
An invasive species with a global price tag
Prosopis now ranks among the most damaging invasive species worldwide. The Intergovernmental Science Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services estimates that invasive plants and animals cost the global economy hundreds of billions of dollars every year, a figure it warns is likely underestimated.
In Ethiopia alone, environmental economists calculate that losses linked to prosopis in the Afar region exceed 600 million dollars over the past thirty years – roughly four times the region’s annual budget. Scientific studies also show the plant’s footprint expanding rapidly, with projections suggesting it could occupy more than a fifth of the country’s land by 2060.
Out of control, but not hopeless
Part of the problem is unexpectedly simple. Camels eat the tree’s pods and disperse its seeds across vast distances. In a region where camels are essential, this natural transport system has helped prosopis spread almost unchecked.
Still, efforts are under way. Organisations such as CARE are experimenting with practical responses: turning dried leaves into animal feed, using the wood for charcoal and building materials, and replacing cleared trees with fruit crops that can be sold locally. Clearing even a few hectares can take weeks, underlining how resource intensive the task is.
A cautionary tale for climate solutions
The story of prosopis in Ethiopia is ultimately a warning. Climate solutions that look perfect on paper can unravel when they meet complex local ecosystems. In trying to engineer resilience, humans sometimes underestimate nature’s capacity to surprise.
As camels continue to cross the Afar plains, scattering seeds as they go, the lesson remains painfully clear. Good intentions are not enough. Lasting solutions demand patience, local knowledge and a deep respect for ecological balance.
